The Second War
by greenhairgreeneyes
Summary: A Sarovian soldier visits the founding meeting of the Free States.


It was a freezing night.

The snow and ice had thawed and refrozen, leaving the sparse patches of thawed ground muddy and slushed. It would not be a white Christmas in 3 days, that was for sure - he thought, chewing on the cigar. More likely it would be brown - or if worse came to worse in the events following this meeting, scarlet red.

The soldiers had been training at a greater rate in preparation, and of course he had been working them hard, because they would need to pass their limits in order to be the proverbial David to this Goliath.

He shivered, horripilation rising, a physical, and unfortunately not very descriptive, premonition. Smoothing his faded blue ICU down, he stepped through the gate, slush dripping off of his combat boots. The man was a veteran, and he would not allow goosebumps to get the better of him.

The field he stood on was vast and grassy, the front yard to a standard-looking building, beige-bricked and lined with cubular bushes. The plants were half-frozen from the cold and saturated with melted ice, but still managed to retain their decorativeness. The wind picked up as a thick fog of snow chilled his face.

There was nobody out here; the proceedings must have already begun. Maybe he'd be late - it was conceivable that he was early. Either way, the soldier dreaded the meeting. The drab building housed some of the most influential political leaders, military officers, and civilians in all of Graal.

It was meant to be a treat for him - he'd get to see possibly the determining moment of all events in 2017. He would be the sole messenger to his Emperor and Empire, conveying some of the most important messages of the year. But it was not a treat.

They'd tried to keep it hidden from him, but he was perceptive. He could almost see the war that was going to begin broiling as soon as he set foot into that building. The abhorrence against him and his Empire that stirred within those walls would come to a height, and it would be focused all upon them. And thus the meeting was not a treat - it was a time bomb.

Yes, he was rather intelligent, but at times he wondered if that quality was a curse or a blessing. The beige bricks he stood on were coated in grimy ice, though he walked as swiftly as he could to the ligneous door. Swiftly and silently, he twisted the knob and let himself in smoothly.

A Sarovian officer always knew how to make their presence in a room known - it was not something explicitly taught, but rather something that all officers had picked up as NCOs and perfected in their time as Lieutenants or Captains. Posture ramrod straight, chin held high, shoulders back, movements stiff yet powerful, every action regulated so as to serve a useful purpose. Officers were not spies, or mercenaries - they did not hide from sight, rather actively sought it. They rarely had to resort to yelling to make their points, and he did not intend for it to be that way here.

He closed the door behind him and used the quick millisecond he possessed to survey the room. It was not an antechamber; there was none, he supposed, unless you counted the frigid excuse of a courtyard. No, this was a large main chamber, high ceiling arched and vaulted, massive pillars lining the gold-bricked walls. It was a magnificent room, it could not be denied.

There was a tall podium at the front of the chamber, sheer weight binding it to the tiled brown floor. In front of it, a small lectern. The lectern could be accessed by anyone, it seemed - however, the podium was fenced off, preventing anyone from entering. A smart decision. Though many sheep followed the man holding this event, there were even more lions that despised him - including most from his Empire.

On either side of the lectern and podium were rows upon rows of seating, all ascending to form a sort of amphitheater. He recognized quite a few soldiers and politicians in the stands, the majority of which sent glares at him, though many faltered as soon as he sent one back to them. The officer snorted and stepped forward, footsteps creating loud echoes through the chamber as he ascended carpeted stairs to the top row of seats. Sliding into the very inside, where he had the best view of the podium, he settled for a long night.

He did not like the amphitheater format - it was very different from what Emperor Constantine used for events and such. That was a simple yet elegant room, not too extravagant or overdone. That was a room that housed bonds upon history upon glory upon royalty upon one Empire.

The extravagant furniture, the amphitheater format, the way all of the seats were centered around the podium - the room felt as though it had been made more for a performer than a King.

Perhaps it was so.

A sudden hush fell over the room as footsteps echoed throughout the chamber.

The officer looked up, and immediately tensed as he recognized the man walking up to the podium. The man was of medium height, sporting stringy silver-gray hair. He held an air of ruthlessness, callousness that was only exacerbated by the grisly twin scars crossing both eyes vertically. An air of cruelty and importance surrounded the man as he approached the podium garbed in a black overcoat and State uniform.

There was not a soul in the room who did not recognize Auel Xinke Han.

A vicious leader and brutal dictator, Han was a man of iron will and red-hot actions. In some cases, red-hot was good. In most, red-hot was the mark that branded his men like slaves. There was a moment where he felt pity for Auel's dogs - grinded into a war machine where naught existed but cold logic and stiff tacticians. But there was always a choice involved.

Xinke, however, was not the worst man that would be attending this event, he realized as the scarred man stepped aside, as if to make room for one other at the podium. Right on cue, the same warped echoes resounded throughout the auditorium. A slender figure strode across the hallway, arrogant swagger in place.

Pauldrons laid heavy on the man's shoulders, complementing a sharp, smooth blue State uniform. A chiseled jawline and harsh features accompanied his face, as well as a coal-black beard and a permanent frown. His hair was medium-length and untamed.

Auel Vist.

A sour taste became known to the officer.


End file.
